


The One Where Technology Is Somewhat An Issue

by idontshaveforsher_yesyoudo



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ... but not necessarily very quick on the uptake, Gen, Humor, M/M, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, can be read as both friendship or future relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 22:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19050016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontshaveforsher_yesyoudo/pseuds/idontshaveforsher_yesyoudo
Summary: This is about the hundreth time this week Steve has asked Tony about modern technology he doesn't understand, and Tony is about to lose his goddamn mind.or, Sometimes, things aren't quite what they seem. Sometimes, Steve Rogers is a little shit.





	The One Where Technology Is Somewhat An Issue

**Author's Note:**

> written in a rush, all feedback always much, much appreciated ! 
> 
> can be read as them being bros or being future bfs, I don't even know myself. either way, tony's kinda gay for cap's shoulders. who isn't ?

 

This is about the hundreth time this week Steve has asked Tony about modern technology he doesn't understand, and Tony is about to lose his goddamn mind. ( _Goshdarn_. Sorry, Cap)

Bruce tells him to be patient, and he’s trying, and he gets that Steve was born ninety years ago, but at this point, Tony’s just about had it.

“How do I change my password on my tablet?” on Wednesday.

“Can you turn up the brightness of my phone?” on Thursday.

“How do I find pictures on the Google” yesterday. _The_ Google, he said, and Tony wanted to grab him by his perfect shoulders and shake him until he gets it into his perfect head that ‘it’s just _Google_ , no _The_ , that’s the hundredth time I’ve had to tell you this!’

But alas, Steve was born even before news were broadcast via radio, he’s bound to be a little slow with technology. Tony just hoped that it would go a bit faster than this, with Steve being one of the best tactical minds the military has.

Then, just a minute ago, Steve marched into his lab, ignoring some of the most brilliant inventions of the twenty-first century, thank you very much, in favour of Tony’s workbench, on which he immediately perches his patriotic ass.

“Hey, Tony, can you show me how to change the background of my phone?”

Tony looks at his perfect _aw-shucks-apple-pie-and-fireworks_ smile and takes a deep breath to avoid punching something, or worse, stabbing Steve with the screwdriver he’s still holding. He slowly places the tool on the table.

“Google does exist, you know?”

Steve frowns. “Yeah, but I still haven’t figured that one out yet, so I thought I’d come ask you. But don’t worry, as soon as I’ve figured out the Google, I’ll stop bothering you with all my questions.”

There he goes again. Tony blankly stares at the wall across the room.

“It’s just _Google_ , no _The_. I thought we’ve been over this.”

“Yeah, sorry, right! Just Google, then.” Steve smiles at him again with his perfect teeth and his stupid broad shoulders (which are, sadly, somewhat hidden under an ugly-ass plaid shirt, the only kind of clothing Steve seems to own).

“Okay, so let me show you how to change your lock screen.”

Steve hesitates, then asks, “What’s a lock screen?”

Tony lets his head drop onto the table.

 

* * *

  

He walks into the kitchen they all have access to on Sunday morning to find Steve standing in front of the stove with an angry frown on his face.

“You okay there, Cap? What’d the stove do to you?”

“Oh, Tony, good morning!” Steve turns to look at him briefly, then turns back to the stove, looking at the installed touchscreen. “I was just trying to boil some eggs, but I can’t seem to turn the stove on. Why does everything have to have some kind of touchscreen nowadays?”

Of course. Tony refrains from rolling his eyes, thinking that at this point he’ll have to end up in heaven after he dies just for the amount of patience he’s had with Steve in the short amount of time he’s known him for.

“No-one likes boiled eggs. I can make you an omelette, if you want.”

“You’re not gonna burn it?”

Tony scoffs. “I’ll have you know that I actually do know how to cook. I might almost set my lab on fire every now on then, but I’ve never fucked up a meal.” He cracks open some eggs into a bowl, adds spices, moving around Steve while doing so. The stove is turned on with two taps to the touchscreen. “See, it’s that easy. And anyway, anything I make is bound to be better than your salt-and-boil method of cooking.”

Steve settles against the countertop, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and Tony will deny it until the day he dies but he does almost burn the omelette in the pan because his eyes get caught on where Steve’s arms are dangerously big for his plaid shirt, which looks like it’s about to burst any second now.

Luckily, Tony avoids endless teasing by not burning the omelette, and ten minutes later finds the two of them sitting at the big table with their coffee and their plates and their newspaper (on a tablet for Tony, the print version for Steve).

Steve demolishes half of his breakfast with a few bites, then slows down as his attention gets caught on an article about global politics.

“Well?” Tony can’t help but ask.

Steve looks up. “What?”

“How’s seasoned food treating you?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches upwards, then his face goes back to the stoic expression it usually has. “It’s alright. Can’t beat the good old salt-and-boil method, though.”

Tony throws up his hands. “Is there any way for you to be actually satisfied?”

Steve shrugs. “Maybe you should use the Google to find out.”

 

* * *

 

Normally, Tony walks past the laundry room without sparing it a second glance. His clothes get washed by the service that collects his and everyone else’s laundry and brings them back two days later. It’s one of the perks of having money that Tony enjoys thoroughly, because after spending evenings perched on washing machines in dirty sweatpants when he forgot to do his laundry for two weeks back in college, he developed a strong distaste for the task.

So he’s rather confused to hear swearing come from the room when he passes it on his way to his lab one evening. ( _Swearing_ is a bit exaggerated. It’s more of a ‘gosh darn it’ than the rows of expletives that leave Tony’s mouth on the daily.)

He opens the door and peeks inside to see Steve in front of one of the high-tech machines, staring intently at it. Tony purses his lips. Seems like another technology problem, and he’s tempted to just leave before Steve notices him and asks him about it, but the man in question chooses that moment to look up.

“Oh, Tony, perfect, hi! I’m having problems with this machine. I’d wash my clothes by hand but there’s an ugly stain in one of the pants that I can’t get out…” He trails off and looks at Tony with those stupid puppy-dog-eyes and Tony can’t refuse. (He’s pretty sure it’d be actual treason to refuse Captain America’s puppy-dog-eyes.)

So, he quickly steps around Steve, presses the right buttons slow enough for Steve to see how they work, then looks up at him.

“Next time, maybe, just ask JARVIS?”

“Oh, right, JARVIS. I keep forgetting he’s here, sorry JARVIS, no offence.”

“None taken,” the AI’s dry voice comes from the ceiling.

Tony claps his hands together. “Well, I’m off. New things to invent, countries to save, all that jazz.”

He’s halfway out the door when Steve calls out his name. “I just put an apple pie in the oven, hence the stain. Wanna join me in, say, thirty minutes? I’ll even make whipped cream.” He grins at Tony, his stupid, perfect grin, and Tony is just a man, after all.

“’Kay, I’ll come upstairs in a while. Save a piece for me, I don’t want those other assholes to eat all of it.”

Steve bites back a laugh and it’s, well, surprising, at least. He’s not the most open person, Tony’s learned, and to see him lose a bit of his mask even for a moment makes him seem a lot more like a real person and less like the persona of Captain America.

But instead of contemplating about the psychological state of one National Superhero, Tony grins at him and leaves in the direction of his lab.

“See you.”

 

* * *

 

It’s after midnight when Tony finally gets home to the tower after spending the evening having dinner with some assholes from Stark Industries’ board. All he really wants is a drink and then a warm bed to fall into and sleep for about twelve hours.

There’s chatter coming from the terrace of the penthouse and, after pouring himself a drink, he slides the glass door open to join whoever is outside.

There’s some shuffling and people hushing and someone is giggling and once his eyes are adjust to the darkness he sees a handful of his teammates in a circle, some on lawn chairs, other on the floor. They’re all looking at him, blinking innocently, but the smell hanging in the air is telling enough.

“Is that a _joint_?”

Natasha, who’s sat on the floor leaning against the railing, grins up at him. “Want a drag?”

He shakes his head and lifts up his glass, taking a sip of his Whiskey. His eyes move from one person to the next, and he does a quick headcount: Natasha is there, Bruce and Thor as well, one of Thor’s warrior friends who came to earth a few weeks ago on some official Asgardian Business, and they’re all passing a joint around.

Then Tony does a double-take. Next to Natasha, almost hidden in the shadow of Thor sitting on his chair, is Steve, leaning against the railing as well.

“So, what are you doing out here, then? Isn’t Captain America against smoking?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve looks up at Tony. “I just came out here to ask them about … something on my phone.”

Natasha giggles next to him, her head falling on his shoulder. Tony watches as Steve looks down at her, smiles softly, then looks up at Tony again. “Obviously I didn’t want them to stay unsupervised. That wouldn’t be responsible, and all.”

Tony’s brows furrow, but he ignores the feeling that something in Steve’s words is a bit weird. He’s probably just tired. He finishes his drink and says, “Alright then. Well, I’m headed to bed, you guys have fun.”

They all exclaim good-byes of various enthusiasm and Steve waves with the arm that isn’t occupied by a high sleepy redhead.

“Good-night, Tony,” he says, and his voice is a lot softer than usual. Tony smiles, then goes back inside.

 

* * *

 

The mission would’ve gone fine if it hadn’t been for that stupid bridge.

More precisely, if it hadn’t been for the stupid bridge standing right in the way of some kind of laser beam that some annoying Bad Guy fired at Tony. Because the bridge then started collapsing with all its pedestrians still on it, which is why it’s a stupid bridge.

Yeah, Tony’s thoughts don’t make a lot of sense right now. He’s a bit busy saving falling people and tumbling cars, you know?

So now Tony and Sam are flying around saving people, which means that Steve is in charge of dismantling the bomb set to detonate in about three minutes. A high-tech bomb with lots of fancy additions that no-one really needs but that overcomplicate things unnecessarily.

Just as Tony’s pushing a car back on save land, Steve pipes up over their comms.

“I’m by the bomb now. The villain-guy’s out cold.” He’s breathing heavily, and Tony can share that sentiment. This was supposed to be an easy mission.

“Right. Tell me what you see, I’ll walk you through it,” he grunts, still pushing the car.

Steve scoffs. “Already on it.”

Tony frowns. “Don’t press anything, we don’t know what kind of shit he installed in the tech, and to be honest, we both know you’re kind of shit with modern technology.”

“Yeah, I got it covered, don’t worry.”

Tony grabs two people dangling from the railing and waits for Steve to ask for help, but there’s just silence.

“Steve? You still there? The bomb’s gonna blow in two minutes!”

“Yeah, hang on, there’s just some fucking -” There’s sounds of a fight coming through the comms, and Tony winces at what sounds like some bones breaking. Then Steve speaks up again. “Sorry. Just some damn soldiers, they’re taken out. Anyway, I’ve almost got the bomb dismantled.”

Tony carries a last pedestrian to land just as the second pillar of the bridge creaks, almost giving in. He flies towards the office building where he knows the bomb is stationed as fast as he can, tumbles through a window and finds Steve bowed over a computer, typing rapidly as text flickers across the screen.

Just as Tony gets close enough to help, red letters flash across the screen, announcing that the detonation process of the bomb has been stopped.

He breathes out a sigh, then stops in his tracks. Steve grins up at him.

“Oh, hey, Tony. The bomb’s dealt with,” He says over the comms to inform Sam, as well.

“Um, I’m just,” Tony can practically feel the synapses in his brain working overtime, trying to re-arrange themselves to understand how _Steve Rogers_ aka _Captain America_ aka _pure and innocent tech-hater_ could hack into a program set to detonate a bomb.

“You okay there?” Steve’s face is lit up like it rarely is, and Tony is glad he’s still wearing his helmet because he thinks he’d never lift his dumbfounded expression down.

“Yeah, fine, just – since when do you know how to hack?”

He expected many answers, but a giggle was not one of them.

“You finally caught on?”

Tony flips his visor open. “You’re telling me that all this time you’ve been asking me about tech stuff…” He trails off and Steve chimes in,

“I’m not actually incompetent. I figured out how _The Google_ worked a week after I woke up.”

Sam now flies in through the window and lands next to Tony, looks from one to the other, snickers.

“I’m so glad you finally caught on. The joke was almost getting old.”

“Was it, though?” Steve asks.

“Nah, it wasn’t. But at least I won’t have to look at you in those ugly plaid grandpa shirts and khakis anymore.” Sam claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Post-mission drinks and some Chinese? Shield’s already on clean-up, and I’m gonna buy you a pint or two for keeping it going this long.”

Steve grins, then turns to Tony. “You coming? Now I can finally eat seasoned food instead of all that fuckin’ salt-and-boil shit in front of you without blowing my cover, gotta exploit it!”

Tony’s still looking at the two of them, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I hate you, you know that?”

Steve punches his shoulder, lightly. “Sure, Tony.”

Tony punches him back, only slightly lessening the blow because Steve can take it and honestly, he kind of deserves it.

“Let’s get drinks, then. Though I feel like I might need something stronger than just beer.”

“We could always get some of Thor’s Asgardian weed, if you want.”

Tony sputters. “Since when does Captain America smoke _weed_?”

A laugh from Sam. “Oh buddy, you’re in for a lot of surprises.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> use drugs responsibly ! don't smoke any extraterrestrial weed !  
> (on that note: the people smoking Thor's weed are those who have a somewhat higher metabolism, assuming that Natasha got a version of the serum as well, so the Asgardian weed would have about the same effect as our weed has on humans.)


End file.
